“Is Mrs. Methvyn not as well as she used to be, then?” inquired Mr. Hayle, recalling the early hours and active habits of Greystone.
“Oh! dear, yes; she is very well—perfectly well,” said Cicely quickly. “She says she has grown lazy, that is all. Won’t you come in and see her for yourself?”
“Not just now, thank you,” he replied. “If I may call to-morrow, I should like very much to see Mrs. Methvyn.”
“Come to-morrow then, by all means,” said Cicely brightly. She smiled as she spoke—she was so anxious to convince him of her cheerfulness and well-being.
“Thank you,” he said simply, with something in his expression which she did not understand. Then he shook hands again and went away.
“What energy and powers of endurance she has,” he said to himself. “Such a woman has it in her to do great things.”
Mrs. Methvyn was not in the drawing room when Cicely went in. The girl ran upstairs.
“Mamma,” she called out, tapping at her mother’s door.
“Come in,” replied Mrs. Methvyn’s voice, and Cicely entered. Her mother was dressed, sitting in an arm-chair near the fire.
“You are very lazy this morning, mother,” she said laughingly. “I was very nearly bringing an old friend in to see you. Whom do you think I met at church?”